


A Tale Of Fear

by virginea



Series: Short Stories [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Also I Badly Wanted To Write Something With Missandei Alive, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boatbaby is Alive!, Dad Jon, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jon Snow-centric, Missandei deserved better, Season Eight Does Exist But People Talked And Made Intelligent Choices, Therefore Shit Didn't Happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virginea/pseuds/virginea
Summary: All of us are bound to have fears. Jon is aware of this and has learned from the man that raised him that it is only when we are afraid that we can be brave.Now, he is a father himself and therefore must pass this lesson to his little daughter who currently experiences night terrors involving certain winged creatures.While Daenerys is away on a mission and the same apprehension hangs over him again, Jon and his daughter recall through tales the days when his courage underwent the most unlikely ordeal.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Short Stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872784
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35





	A Tale Of Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello there. I know that coming up with a new story is somewhat reckless, considering I haven't finished the others. The truth is that these days my mind is very anxious. August has been a strange month. I found myself with plenty of time to finish the Beyond the Wall & Across the Narrow Sea series but all I did was lie down and watch the ceiling absentmindedly for long hours while letting time flow, read a couple of books and marathon a couple of shows, coming to the conclusion that I was engulfed in an almost catatonic state from which I could not get out for some reason. These days I've been writing again, but as always, my method is scattered and chaotic so instead of having a decent chapter of The Smoke After The Fire, what I have are many loose scenes that need a common thread to tie them together. 
> 
> As I am not a patient person, and I can understand that on the other side some of you also hope to receive proper closure to something that you have started, I am going to leave you here the link to a work where I posted a sort of medley of scenes that I have written in these last couple of days. Of course they may contain various spoilers of what will eventually happen. Spoilers do not bother me personally, neither receive nor give them. But it is a warning to those for whom it may affect their enjoyment of the story. So be careful. 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293801/chapters/64196530
> 
> This in no way means that the stories I started are going to be unfinished. I am slow but I don't give up. 
> 
> I hope you can enjoy it as well as this new little piece. Thank you!

**Chapter 1: The Winged Shadow.**

**King's Landing.**

**310 AC.**

Jon hated administrative affairs. This was Daenerys’ field and in different circumstances, he would have chosen to spend the day with the servants clearing the basements than being locked up in a solitary and ample room going through paper after paper until his eyes were dry and red from the effort.

He sighed, leaned back against the back of the chair, and pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that denoted ennui and exhaustion. The duty had fallen upon him in light of the sudden absence of the queen, whose presence was immediately required in the East. _Essos-sort-of-East_. And it was also a matter of great concern for him. 

_Bloody slavers_. Just when they began to envision a certain form of peace those bastards had to return to their old habits.

A little over five years had passed since the events of that fateful year and voices that relayed the stories of the events that transpired in Westeros reached Essos. By its very nature, the recount of the Long Night was prone to falling on deaf ears, and at the end of the day, not even half of Westeros was sold on the idea of its accuracy. Hence, southron still called it the _Northern War_ ; something that probably took place but somewhat overblown.

Some of what happened, however, was not so hard to believe: the all-mighty Mother of Dragons had lost one of her children in what it seemed strange circumstances, and the tools her enemies deployed proved to be effective in its purpose. As soon as it reached the ears of her enemies on the eastern continent, and believing themselves safe being a sea away, chaos had broken out again in the Bay of Dragons.

He took a short break to gaze through the window at the city lit by the last rays of the sun. King's Landing from above had no comparison, not even with its true appearance once one came down to walk its streets. At first, it had been difficult for him to take a liking to such a crowded and warm place. Dragonstone was his preference when it came to his choice. But something he couldn't deny was the fact that he has been immensely happy in this place. Much happier than he had been in his entire life before.

Nonetheless, Jon couldn't help but feel apprehensive in the face of this new plight, and his mind was consumed by the worry and the helplessness of finding himself in a place of quiescence instead of action, where he would have preferred to be. _At her side_ , more specifically.

Three soft knocks at the door jarred him out of these ruminations.

"Your grace," Missandei's soft voice broke the silence. "I mean, Jon," she was quick to correct herself before he reminded her again that he preferred being called by his name.

As if Missandei's presence was a constant reminder of something else, all his senses sharpened and he knew there could be only one reason for her to be there.

"Something happened?" he asked her, voice pitched with worry.

Missandei stood inside the room with a straightened posture, similar to Daenerys when she had her arms and hands crossed in front of her.

"She's having them again and has refused to go to sleep unless you attend her," she explained to him.

His shoulders slumped and he nodded dejectedly. It was not the first time she came with this grievance. It has been like this since this situation has arisen.

"They are getting worse," Jon pointed out once they were traversing the long way towards the chambers wing. 

"Maybe it has to do with the Queen's absence," she responded. 

Jon did not doubt that it was so.

"It has everything to do with her absence," he said.

The interiors of Red Keep could get labyrinthine sometimes, he thought as they approached the destination. Had it not been for the fact that he had surveyed every corner during their early stay here, Jon would still be lost every time he had to return to the royal family's private wing. Daenerys, who had inhabited a bloody pyramid, used to tease him for his confusion when they had first taken possession of the fortress that had belonged to their family. The memory in the midst of this conundrum tasted bittersweet.

They came to a long corridor that ended in a large gate. Two guards were posted outside, one of whom Jon knew well and enough to entrust him with the care of his greatest treasure.

Ser Podrick Payne, although with the years had hardened his character, could not avoid nodding with a sympathetic smile as soon as the king stood in front of the solar's doors. Jon could only imagine what it must be awaiting him inside.

***

As soon as he stepped into the bedchamber attached to the nursery, which is itself consciously remodeled near their own rooms, Jon realizes that it will be a long and hard battle tonight.

He sighed wearily and sauntered over where various objects were scattered on the carpeted floor. _Dany isn't going to like this_ , he thought, looking at the mess. Jon could hear the movement of some pieces - toys, most likely - coming from the middle of the room, where, in some clever way, two stools had arrived and they were holding fabrics of delicate silk upright. A fortress. He knew about it because he once was the owner of one built with snow and mud, the distant memory of a boy who used to dream with his own home and land. It was a childish occurrence, of course, but one that he understood now that it concealed more meaning when he recalled how safe he felt there. Safe from Lady Catelyn's sharp stares and the constant teasing he received for his status. In a way, it was where he learned to find refuge in solitude. Fear had ostracized him and it was not the last time but the beginning of a bad habit.

He didn't want his little daughter to have to resort to the same thing.

Jon sat on his haunches and slowly approached to speak in a calm voice:

"Is there someone at home?"

A small head of silver hair appeared through the openings where the two fabrics were joined strategically with a three-headed dragon brooch. Jon made a mental note not to retreat that night without hiding the sharp object from her reach. A pair of deep purple eyes gazed at him contemplatively, before letting out a sigh. For all the physical resemblance she had inherited from her queen mother, Rhaelya had taken her brooding temperament after her father.

Jon's heart fluttered at the mere view of his child, even if it caused him terrible distress seeing her undergoing this stage. Since Dany had left a few moons ago, Rhaelya's behavior had become complicated, so to speak. Normally a focused and curious child but not excessively, receiving the news of her mother's departure had affected her understanding of things.

_"But why did she have to go?"_

_"Couldn't she have gone later?"_

_"Could you please tell her to come back?"_

And the fact that she wasn't prone to have outbursts made it all of it more heartbreaking to his eyes. She was sensitive and kind in ways he could not truly capture with words. Beyond perceptive and smart enough to make the right querries.

Perhaps it was about the varied and enriching education she was receiving, beyond the lessons from some narrow-minded Maester. Her mother had seen to it that Missandei also instruct her about the many languages and cultures she had acquired from her training as a translator. Or mayhaps she was truly beyond extraordinary as Daenerys put it. In any case, his little girl was special, and seeing her go through the confusion in this way made him want to handle the matter himself, take Rhaegal and deal the same way with the enemies that kept his wife and daughter's mother away from home. But his most primal instinct met the limit imposed by his understanding of the duty both he and Daenerys carried as king and queen. This was the only reason that kept him sane.

"Has she come back?" her tender voice asked him, shaking him out of his thoughts. This would be the only question she would ask him, all nights when he's required here. 

"Not yet but soon she will," he reassured. It was his usual answer. The pretended calm he attempted to convey turned into disappointment as her eyes moved downward and her small shoulders slumped in dismay.

"I miss her. Couldn't you just fetch her?"

 _I'd wish to_. 

The expression on his face mirrored hers. She pushed aside the fabrics she had dragged from her bed here and moved forward until she was between his legs. She snuggled against his chest and let out another sharp breath. Her hand went to her mouth and a finger slipped into it. Jon took it in his and gave it a soft kiss before pulling it back down.

"Missandei told me you said you had a bad dream again. Is that true?" 

She nodded enthusiastically. 

"They are very ugly, Papa," she said quietly. 

"Aye. We all have bad dreams, sometimes."

She pulled away a bit to look into his eye. Her hand came back upward to fidget with his beard. 

"I don't like them. Could you please make them go away?"

Jon didn't know what to answer to that. A fierce response came to his mind. _I would give up all my life's good dreams for you_ , he immediately thought. There was nothing he would not do for her. For her mother or for her brother. Notwithstanding this, he didn't want to make promises he wouldn't be able to fulfill. The gods knew that he had made enough of those and paid a heavy price for breaking them. 

"Could you _please_ tell me about them?" Instead, he asked her. Please being keyword due to Missandei's dainty influence. Rhaelya easily took offense if someone would not use the magic word. Anyone she could hear. 

"It was the winged shadow," she confided, wincing slightly. "And it was here."

Jon swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Every night for the past week her night's dreams were invaded by this recurring image of a winged shadow that Jon assumed were dragons. What else it could be? It didn't make sense because Rhaelya had known dragons since she was old enough for her mother to often take her with her to ride Drogon. Of course, she's seen them. And she has never shown to be afraid of another winged creature. The conclusion Jon had come to is that everything was the product of the same fear that the abrupt absence of her mother seeped into her tender mind. 

"The winged shadow is here, Papa," she insisted. 

Jon looked around the room but found nothing out of the ordinary, aside from the disorder that would clearly remain as long as there was no authority demanding its cleansing. The servants in charge of the chambers have come to him with complaints that the little princess would not stop fiddling with things around the solar with the excuse of stocking her fortress. He could capture by sight a number of objects that did not belong there.

"It flew over me and was making _screechies_!"

Jon masked a laugh by smiling stiffly at her. Even with discouragement over her, he could see hints of the merry child that she's always been. 

"Aye. What kind of _screechies_?"

Rhaelya clicked her tongue and made a sound in the back of her throat to mimic the winged shadow of her night terrors. This time he couldn't disguise his wide smile.

***

As best he could, he organized the place and sneakily pushed the disaster aside knowing that tomorrow everything would return to its chaotic state. All the while Rhaelya watched and hummed absently from the bed. 

He could hear Daenerys voice scolding him for allowing their daughter to bring things from the other quarters to her bedchamber. He clearly recalled her giving instructions to move furniture about. Nothing went anywhere without a previous cleansing procedure. _Or else you'd be taking grim from one place to another,_ she would say. Jon had first believed that it was a habit typical of the delicate ways of the Southron but Daenerys had not grown up in a castle but on the run in the streets of the different Free Cities. The memory of it made his heart clench. Rather it was a survival knowledge that she had gained from the various tribulations she endured. 

"Alright then," he said, once he had finished tossing the toys scattered in the chest at the end of the bed. He leaned on it to look Rhaelya in the eye. "Time for you, Princess, to go to sleep."

Although she heeded the mandate when moving up and under the bedding, Jon knew it wouldn't be that simple. He walked around the bed to sit on the opposite end, encountering some obstacles - dolls - in the middle. He would never tell her that he hated them.

Rhaelya pushed her toys aside to lie down close to him. Face nestled against his stomach. His hand combed her delicate silver strands. If someone had told Jon many years ago that he was going to have a daughter like her, he would never have believed it. Not that he had imagined as a father at all. 

"Would you please tell me a bedtime story, Father?" 

_Father_. The word could vary depending on the day, being Kepa sometimes and Ave in others, but _Father_ stuck around longer as time progressed and he did not know how to feel about it. Papa was the one he loved the most for it was the first one she used when words first start blurting out of her babe's babbling. 

"A bedtime story? Which one would you like?"

She shrugged with one hand prowling her mouth. 

Jon slid his gaze to the bedside where several tomes rested containing the stories and songs that Missandei or himself used to read to her as she drifted off. Although he knew that she had already read almost all of them on her own. There were no more stories to tell that Rhaelya didn't already know.

Then it occurred to him that perhaps it was better to improvise.

"How about a tale of fear?"

Her head whipped up at him. Her amethyst eyes widened in bewilderment.

"I don't like scary stories, Father!" she protested. 

"Not scary stories, Rhae, but a _tale_ _of_ _fear_. Do you know that fear is a very common feeling? It doesn't mean anything wrong. We all go through it." 

His daughter sized his words for a moment and then shook her head.

"But you are not afraid of anything!" 

_Good gods_ , he thought. _If you knew_.

"It happened to me oftentimes, actually," _and plenty other more_ , "That I was so scared I thought I would never be fearless again."

"When?" She asked, looking at him intently. 

"Well..." Jon didn't know which of his many experiences to choose. Right now apprehension hung over his thoughts as they turned to his wife fighting a war far from home. "The time I met the Night King, for example."

Daenerys had insisted that letting her know about the Long Night through tales was a way to inspire a heroic sense in her. Not that all the stories about the Targaryens of yore or those of Dany herself and her path to the throne didn't do enough in that regard, but when it came to this particular event, he understood that it was something deeply rooted in the Stark side of their origins. Winterfell. The Wolves. The North. 

However, he did little to impress Rhaelya.

"I know that story. Aunt Arya killed the Night King," she reminded him.

"Yes, but I was, _we all were_ , pretty much afraid of him at first." The voice in his head was replaced by Lord Stark's. "That is the only time one can be brave."

"How can you be brave if you are afraid. That doesn't make sense, Papa."

He sighed as he watched her little brow furrow. 

"I mean that fear is also the reason why we can be brave, love. How can we be brave if we don't know what we're afraid of?" Her eyes looked up and he knew he would have to explain himself better. "Do you remember that when you were very little you didn't like to see the Iron Throne?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"Little like Aemon!"

"Exactly, little like Aemon. And do you remember when you stopped feeling afraid?"

Rhaelya pursed her lips in thought.

"Mama put me on her lap," she said. 

"Aye, but before that, what did you do to?"

She giggled. 

"I put my hands over my eyes!"

"Exactly. And that you did because you were brave enough to try. But it didn't mean you stopped being afraid while you take the risk to face you fear." Her eyes had widened attentively as she kept on with his words. "Fear makes us be brave, Rhaelya, we just don't have to let it be...all we have."

Her head rested on his chest as she let the words settle in her memory.

"But why if I only got fear?"

Her voice sounded genuinely concerned and he rubbed her back to reassure her.

"Then I'll be there to show you, you can be brave. Always," he promised her. "As it is your mother."

Rhaelya snuggled closer to his chest and even if they didn't say so, both of them at that moment were joined by their fierce desire for Daenerys to come home. 

"Tell me your story then," she said, looking down to her hands. " _Please_ ," she remembered to ask. 

"It happened some time ago. Around the time we defeated the Night King..." 


End file.
